


Play Only For Me

by heartkeepingopenhouse



Category: Mamma Roma (1962)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-27
Updated: 2020-05-27
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:20:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24410455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartkeepingopenhouse/pseuds/heartkeepingopenhouse
Summary: Like you, I want to cry from nostalgia,recalling the one who abandoned my heart.Like the song you diffuse through the street,my passion fades away with the wind.Love, refracted.
Relationships: Mamma Roma/Potato Vendor
Kudos: 1





	Play Only For Me

_Signora Roma,_ he says, _Signora Roma_. But she doesn't seem to hear him, staring blindly at the church dome. _Signora Roma,_ he says, shaking her slightly, and she turns. 

Potato vendor, she'd called him, no matter how many times he told her his cart was overflowing with vegetables. _Call me the cucumber vendor,_ he said, winking at her. If he was lucky, she'd glance at him before laughing. He wasn't lucky, though, most of the time. Signora Roma kept her eyes on the horizon. 

Walking the stalls home, he was teased, lightly, about his fixation. _So many young girls in Rome, and here you moon after an old lady who won't even look at you._ He said _search all of Rome, you won't find legs like hers._ He meant it, but that wasn't the reason. The fire in her eyes, you could feel it even with her back to you. The sensation of something wild about her. What would he do, if that fire were focused on him?

She'd looked at him when he told her about the doleful girl her son was sleeping with, though. Had let him wrap his arm around her waist while he whispered the secret in her ear. Had laughed, ribald and pure, at the idea of her son losing his mind over a broom in drag. He was glowing with it, but it was a cheap victory, and it didn't last. He'd only convinced her to redouble her attentions onto her son. He hadn't made a case for himself. 

Leave me alone, potato vendor, she'd cried, flicking her long black hair out of her eyes. I'm happy! Yelling about her figs so loudly they'd hear her in Guidonia. _Signora Roma isn't afraid of anything,_ he'd say proudly, still trying to justify his love. _She's never shirked a thing in her life. A woman like that could have a man taking care of her_ –– and then he'd be shouted down, for everyone knew the potato vendor still had debts, couldn't take care of Rome's lover Bruna, much less the grand-talking Signora Roma, determined to make something of herself and of her son. 

_Why bother,_ the chorus would ask, _why bother trying to win her? Save some of your money, go to Carmine, you can get a good rate. She'll be happy to have a friendly client – some of them are real bastards! And you know Carmine doesn't care as long as the money comes in._

Yes. He'd thought about it often enough. But to rut into her like those other animals, her face turned to the side, her fiery eyes half closed, half on the clock – no. He wanted something from her that would take her by surprise. 

Potato vendor, do me a favor. Put my stall away for me. _Si, Signora Roma, no problem._ A grateful smile, a nod. 

Potato vendor, that girl Bruna who's sleeping with my son. Who's she cheating on? _All of Rome._ A wild laugh, with a note of fear. 

Potato vendor, where is my son? Where is my baby? _Signora, Ettore's been stealing from the hospital. Those friends he has, they're a bad sort._ Eyes closed, face to the sun. Flinching away from his voice. 

Leave me alone, potato vendor. _It's okay, Signora. I spent time in jail as a kid too. By the grace of God, all it will do is frighten him into behaving._ Leave me alone, potato vendor. 

If Signora Roma had had money, her son wouldn't have died in prison. The warden would have noticed that he was sick and brought him proper medicine, a doctor. 

But if she'd had money, she would have stayed home from the market and made him take rest. 

If she'd had money, why would she sell fruits and vegetables from a stall at the market? She would stay home all the time like a grand lady, and her son would have gone to school and learned a trade. 

If she'd had money, she could have raised Ettore herself, and then they wouldn't have had their problems. 

If she'd had money, she wouldn't have met Ettore's husband. She would have married a respectable man, and had a respectable son, and raised him not to steal. A potato vendor at the market would never have seen her, wouldn't even have her sideways glances and her loud, open laugh. 

What a useless game. 

She steps away from the window, but he keeps his arms around her. It isn't even just to take liberties; at any time, like a wounded tigress, she might leap. Slowly the others filter out, but he remains. 

Potato vendor, you're still here?

_Signora Roma._

You'd better go back to your stall. People will be wanting potatoes. 

_Signora Roma._

Finally she looks at him. Straight on, dark eyes wet and sure. He wants to kiss her. Well if you're so desperate to stay, then stay.

_Signora Roma,_ he says, his heart breaking, and lets himself out.

**Author's Note:**

> Title and italicized portion of summary come from Violino Tzigano, sung in the movie by Joselito; the translation comes from https://lyricstranslate.com/en/violino-tzigano-gypsy-violin.html.


End file.
